


Cat and Mouse

by thatmasquedgirl



Series: Vampires Will Bite and Other True Myths [2]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: (because I mean of course), (sanity is optional), (welcome to curiosity verse), (yeah that's a thing), Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Shapeshifters, Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Belligerent Sexual Tension, Episode: s01e23 Sacrifice, F/M, I feel like someone created that tag after reading my fic, Light Angst, Olicity Summer Sizzle 2019, Oliver Queen & Felicity Smoak friendship, Oliver Queen/Felicity Smoak Unresolved Sexual Tension, One Shot, POV Felicity Smoak, POV Oliver Queen, Protective Oliver Queen, Reunited at last, Shapeshifting, Slow Burn, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Urban Fantasy, Vampire Oliver Queen, Vampires, Werecat Felicity Smoak, Werecats, my two favorite tags
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-07
Updated: 2019-07-07
Packaged: 2020-06-23 20:12:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19708573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatmasquedgirl/pseuds/thatmasquedgirl
Summary: Oliver tries to find Felicity as time is running out.More Curiosity, this time with a werecat, some biting, and a whole lot of sexual tension.Written for Olicity Summer Sizzle 2019.Weekly prompt:  Supernatural AUPrompt:  Hurt/comfort





	Cat and Mouse

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AlexiaBlackbriar13](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlexiaBlackbriar13/gifts).



> For Lexi, because she's the one who asked for more of this 'verse at just the right moment to spark the muse. And also because angst, which is Lexi's bread and butter. ;)
> 
> "Supernatural AU" was the weekly prompt for the Sizzle this week, and, well, werecat!Felicity just seemed like the logical choice. I hope y'all enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it! :)

Oliver drums his fingers against his knee as Diggle has to backtrack _yet again_ as the road turns into a dead end. With every bit of rubble and collapsed building, Oliver can feel his throat tighten a little more. They’re running out of time. He still isn’t sure how Malcolm Merlyn managed to sneak in a second machine, but none of that matters now. What matters is getting back to base.

The van careens to the left, causing a sharp pain to shoot through his side. Wetness starts seeping through his jacket again. Oliver takes a deep breath to steel himself before shoving the towel further into his wound, grunting as he winces. That wound is going to need attention—and blood—at some point, but he doesn’t have time to worry about that now.

“Damn it,” Digg swears from the front seat. Oliver looks up just in time to see the giant building collapsed over the road. They’re not going to get anywhere until crews start cleaning up the wreckage of the Undertaking, especially not with the massive van.

The thought has Oliver on his feet, though he stumbles when the van slows at a dead end. He slides the panel door open and hops out, jarring his injuries. Despite that, he doesn’t stop.

“What the hell, Oliver?” Diggle shouts after him. “Where are you going?”

Oliver doesn’t answer. It should be obvious enough by now.

Though he’s only two blocks away from base, it might as well be two miles for the path of destruction around him. He climbs through the rubble in the alleyways as well as he can. His shoulder protests every movement, his exhausted body protesting. At this point, he barely even registers it. The only thing that will stop him from getting back is his own death—something that becomes a much more likely option with every drop of blood.

After what feels like forever, Oliver can see the hint of the black sign with the inverted, green V logo. He almost releases a sigh of relief, but it dies in his throat. The building that was once behind it is gone. No industrial architecture or sleek, black building appear behind it. Instead, Verdant’s remnants lie in sections of broken block.

Part of him dies on the spot, giving up hope. The other part of him only asks to push harder to get back to Verdant. It doesn’t take long before the latter wins out. If it’s as dire as it looks, he has to see for himself. He has to _know_. There isn’t any walking away now.

Thirty yards and five stumbles later, he finds his way toward the basement entrance. The lock is disabled, but when he pulls the door, the stairs seem to be intact. A panting Digg joins him, bending over on his knees to catch his breath. His expression turns grave when he sees the door. “Oliver,” he warns, his voice heavy and breathless, “you know whatever you find in there isn’t gonna be good, man.”

This time Oliver spares him a glance. Judging by the way John takes a step back with his hands up, the desperation Oliver feels must be leaking into his expression. With a statement that’s more promise than declaration, he answers with eyes only for the staircase, “I’m not leaving her here. I _can’t_ leave her here, John.”

Digg responds by helping him shift the rubble away. When they finish, Oliver starts down the staircase with a hand on his shoulder. “You don’t have to go down there,” John offers in a quiet voice. “Let me go. I’ll—”

Oliver silences him with a single look.

This is one thing John Diggle can’t do for him. Though he appreciates the offer, he can’t hide behind John on this one. No, this is all on Oliver. No matter how… painful this might be, he has to be the one to go down after her.

He takes a step, but stops. If he goes down there, he’ll _know_. In this case, knowing is far worse than having a gut feeling. The mere idea of never seeing her smile again is just too much to bear. He might never again hear her declare with exasperation, _Oliver Queen, how am am I supposed to put up with you for the next millennium?_ Living forever had never looked so good.

Now, it’s never felt so bleak.

As Oliver descends the precarious set of stairs, he realizes this is _his_ fault. He should have insisted on getting her out of there. She could have been tech support from Queen manor. If he had fought her, she could be safe with Tommy and Thea. He wouldn’t be scouring the rubble of Verdant for her body right now.

Instead, he had relented. _My life, my choice_ , she had said, and all of his protests had died on his lips. He couldn’t imagine taking the right to make her own choices from her. That seems so minor in comparison to what he’s having to do now. Those four words are going to haunt him for the rest of his life—which has the potential to be a very long time.

It hits him harder than it had during the earthquake. In the best-case scenario, Oliver is all too aware of the fact he will be pulling a corpse from the debris tonight. The worst-case scenario, he won’t be able to find her at all. Then he’ll get to spend the rest of his time tormenting himself with the question: What if she had been alive and he just couldn’t get to her?

It will be that thought—and not the arrow wound in his shoulder—that kills him.

Maybe he should have let Diggle come with him. Suddenly, Oliver isn’t sure he can do this on his own. While she was barely an acquaintance six months ago, Felicity Smoak has become an undeniable part of his life. She’s the voice in his ear or the ferocious cat by his side on a mission; his personal guardian angel. It’s her who can comfort or calm him with a single touch, who carries the weight of his island secrets with a smile.

The ceiling starts to crumble over him as he descends, the foundation making strange sounds in the wake of the destruction. It’s so dark that a human wouldn’t be able to see, but Oliver’s enhanced night vision makes it feel like daylight. The flickering emergency lamp blinds him more than the darkness.

His heart sinks the moment he sees it. What’s left of Felicity’s computer system is barely recognizable—after she spent so many hours upgrading it, too. The salmon ladder is twisted in a mangled heap behind it. Most of the tables are overturned or crushed under massive pieces of rubble.

Maybe Oliver underestimated how horrible this would be. He can’t even see anything left of her at this angle, and there’s no way to search further into the space. Stone and block have collapsed most of the space. Maybe even her.

Fatigue hits him like a leaden weight. Oliver drops to his knees, no longer able to find the strength to stand. It’s here that he allows himself to break down and _feel_ this loss. There won’t be any other time for him to do it. If he grieves when he returns to the surface, no one else will be able to.

A slight scratching sound passes at the same time something glints off the edge of his peripheral vision. Wiping his eyes, he turns to it. Nothing. Probably just the tears at the corners of his eyes.

Before he can dismiss it entirely, he catches it again, this time more prominent. He _knows_ that was something. Oliver slides toward it on his knees, watching that small space under what’s left of his display case for another red glimmer.

It comes. Not as one, but as _two_.

This time it stays there long enough for him to realize what it is. Oliver releases a breath he didn’t know he was holding, crawling toward the space where two bright eyes reflect the light of the emergency lamp back at him.

The impromptu lesson on werecat physiology comes back to him, remembering how Felicity had explained her eyes being very much like a cat’s. There was a lot of science he didn’t understand, but he remembered her talking about reflective layer in her eyes that reflects red in the dark.

Crawling a few feet closer, he manages to discern two furry ears, watching her eyes flick to track his movements. He moves faster then, stopping short when a low growl comes from her throat. “I’m going to get you out,” he whispers to her.

As he reaches for her, she swipes at him. He pulls back at the last moment to avoid her claws. “Honey, it’s just me. It’s Oliver.” She stops growling as soon as he says her name. “We need to get you somewhere safer.”

Slowly, he slides his hand out to her again. This time she rubs against it, a quiet rumble of a purr in her chest. Taking that as permission, he hooks his hands behind her elbows, sliding her forward. With no room to relocate, he pulls the eighty-odd pounds of her cat form on top of him, wincing with the strain it places on his injured shoulder.

Without moving, Oliver closes his eyes and grits his teeth through the pain. Felicity shifts away from him, but heartbeats later, a hand falls on his wound, pressing hard to reduce the bleeding. When he looks up, it’s to find a familiar blonde with a disheveled ponytail and askew glasses. Dust and grime streaks across her face, but she’s never looked so beautiful.

“I thought I told you _not_ to get yourself killed,” she chides him. Even worried, she sounds like heaven.

When Oliver sits up, he reaches to tuck a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. Though he knows he shouldn’t, he cups her face in his palm. A deep breath steadies him. It isn’t a dream: she’s here and she’s _alive_.

Felicity reaches out to touch the delicate skin under his puffy eyes before her frown deepens. “Is Thea okay?” she asks at lightning speed. “What about Tommy? Is your mother safe?” Her eyes widen as she looks around the space. “Where is John?”

He ignores her questions, instead pulling her into his arms. She squeaks at the sudden motion, but returns the hug easily. Oliver buries his face into her shoulder, breathing out a long sigh that nearly brings more tears with it.

“Everyone is fine now,” he finally answers.

That makes her pull back. Felicity seems to study him, taking in his red-rimmed eyes and the tear tracks down his face. Before she can say anything, he offers, “I wasn’t sure what I would find down here.”

Nodding, Felicity looks around the base. “We’ll have to start from scratch when we rebuild,” she answers, sighing. “I _just_ fixed my computers the way I wanted them, too.” She waves a hand in front of them. “And your poor, poor salmon ladder. What’s going to distract me from work now?”

“I’m not worried about that,” he cuts in, making her turn to face him. Taking a shaky breath, he finds the thought unbearable to voice, even with her right in front of him. “I wasn’t sure if you’d be…” Oliver’s throat tightens. “Safe.”

It dawns in her expression then, eyes widening as her mouth falls open. “You thought I was dead,” she breathes out. He flinches at the word before offering a tight nod. Felicity’s arms are around him again in an instant, and he returns the hug. “I promised you the next millennium, Oliver Queen,” she reminds him, her voice both soft and sharp at the same time. “You’re stuck with me—whether you want me or not.”

“I don’t know what I would have done if—” he croaks into her shoulder.

“That isn’t a rabbit hole you and I are going down today,” Felicity insists, cutting him off. “We all made it through tonight. That’s enough.” She rises to her feet then, smoothing out a flared skirt that is most likely ruined by the dust. Extending a hand, she offers, “Let’s go home, Oliver.”

Oliver takes it, not letting go until she’s safely to the van.

* * *

The moment she climbs into the van, Felicity collapses on the long bench seat across from the panel door. Though she doesn’t have any injuries, it’s been quite some time since she’s been _this_ tired. Maybe since the night she told Oliver what she was, the night when he fed on her. That one had been emotionally exhausting, too.

It had also been the best thing to ever happen to her.

This one wears on them a little differently. Tonight, they had failed to stop Malcolm Merlyn from leveling the Glades. Countless humans may have died, but he did it to destroy the Myths—his _own kind_. If there is a Hell, she hopes Merlyn is enjoying the deepest circle of it.

But Malcolm Merlyn’s fate doesn’t matter tonight—not really. What matters is the way Oliver rummages through the ice chest behind Digg’s seat, searching for a pack of blood. Rolling her eyes, she sighs. “You don’t have to do that,” she reminds him, a lilt to her voice.

He grunts instead of answering, throwing his mask over his shoulder before lowering the hood. The blood bags won’t be enough for him, but they all know he’d rather bleed out than bite her again. For the life of her, she doesn’t understand his aversion to it. She’s willing, he’d never take advantage, and they both get something they need: Oliver gets blood, and she gets an alive Oliver.

After several heartbeats more, he holds up a bag. “This is the only one that wasn’t leaking,” he says, preparing to open the end of it. He sits on the edge of the seat, his thigh brushing against her shoes. “It should be enough.”

Rising up, Felicity pulls the bag from his hands, studying it before holding it up to him. “Look at the date,” she points out. When he does, he frowns. “This bag is three months old, Oliver. We both know they expire after six weeks.” She tosses it to the side, nudging him with her shoe. “The only available blood bag in this van is _me_.”

His expression darkens. “Felicity, I told you I—”

“And I’m telling _you_ to get your head out of your ass,” she snaps. His eyes go wide, but at least Oliver has the self-preservation to fall silent. “I am _not_ going to let you bleed out when I can do something to help you.” She points to herself. “I wasn’t injured tonight. You can take all you need without hurting me.”

“You sure that’s a good idea?” John calls from the front. She meets his eyes in the rearview mirror. “Let me pull over so I can be back there in case anything goes wrong.”

As much as she appreciates the sentiment, Felicity knows before Oliver’s frown deepens that the idea isn’t a good one. Before she can speak, Oliver answers in a low voice, “It isn’t a good idea to separate me from a blood source when I’m feeding.” His eyes meet hers. “Felicity could bleed out if you try to break us apart.” Something dangerous washes over his features. “I’m not sure what I would do to _you_ if you tried to break us apart.”

John snorts. “You’re not exactly convincing me this is a good idea, man.”

“I know you’re trying to protect me,” she tells him in a gentle tone, “but Oliver and I have done this before. He didn’t know what he was doing then, we didn’t have someone to intervene, and everything worked out perfectly fine.” Confidence surges through her. “Oliver would _never_ hurt me.”

Something softens in Oliver’s expression. “I don’t deserve you,” he says so softly that she isn’t sure she’s meant to hear it.

Instead of replying to it, Felicity shakes her leg at him, ignoring the way her skirt rides up. Oliver does _not_ ignore it, judging by the way his eyes zero in on the motion. “I’ll even let you use my thigh,” she teases. Sobering, she adds, “My neck is a little stiff from the whole cat thing.” She places a hand to the side of her neck, twisting it to the side. “My feline side may be able to turn her head three hundred twenty degrees, but my human side feels it in the morning.”

“You don’t have to do this,” he reminds her. They both know it’s the last time he’ll ask permission.

She sighs. “Oliver, just shut up and bite into me already,” Felicity answers, rolling her eyes.

Though she expects him to hesitate, Oliver has his hand on her knee in an instant. Rough, callused fingers push her skirt further up her leg, touches so soft that they’re barely there. Felicity’s breath catches as he lowers his face to the inside of her thigh, just inches below her hips. His nose touches her sensitive skin there.

Oliver closes his eyes as he inhales her aroma, causing her to release a shaky breath. A soft groan leaves him, one that Felicity can feel just inches above where his head lies now. “You smell even better here,” he mutters against her skin. Felicity has experienced her fair share of dirty talk in the bedroom, but none of it has ever hit her quite as hard as Oliver’s innocent statement.

When he licks a stripe on the inside of her thigh, her heart skips a beat. As she glances down at him, all she can think about is other, not-so-platonic reasons why he would have his head between her legs.

“Wait,” she blurts as soon as the thought hits her. He freezes before lifting his head up to meet her eyes, arching his eyebrows in a silent question. “I changed my mind—use my neck instead.” Her words start coming out at lightning speed. “Seeing your face down _there_ is making my brain short-circuit. I might spontaneously combust if you actually bite my thigh.”

His eyes widen for a fraction of a second before his lips settle into a smirk. Suddenly Felicity feels engaged in a game of cat and mouse—except, for once, she isn’t the cat. For the first time, Oliver looks like the apex predator nature designed him to be.

After a brief pause, he crawls over the top of her. Felicity’s breath catches for what feels like the hundredth time in the last five minutes, her brain now trying to process the idea of _Oliver Queen_ on top of her. Wearing green leather. If he still had the mask on and his hood up, she’d swear she was having another one of those dreams.

A new expression crosses his face as he stares down at her. If Felicity didn’t know better, she’d say he looked hungry—and not in a way that requires food. The last time he bit her, he seemed barely affected by her blood at all. The arrogant part of her can’t help but think this doesn’t have to do with blood: it has everything to do with her.

“I can’t have you spontaneously combusting,” Oliver teases as he hovers just over her. “What would I do without you?”

“That’s a question I ask myself every day,” she quips back without missing a beat.

Too late she realizes that her legs are splayed out on either side of his hips. The tops of her thighs feel cool, letting her know how far her skirt has ridden up. Though it’s slightly less compromising than their previous position, it still feels like fantasy fuel for later.

When Oliver leans closer, Felicity tilts her head to the side, allowing him better access to the scars on her neck. She expects he’ll want to bite the familiar place. What she _doesn’t_ expect is the way he nuzzles her neck before placing his lips to it.

He chuckles suddenly. “I can hear your heartbeat,” Oliver says suddenly. “Your pulse is racing.” He presses his nose against her pulse point. “It makes you smell even better than usual.” A shaky breath leaves him, dusting against her neck.

“Have I ever told you how amazing you smell?” he asks her suddenly, pulling back to gauge her reaction. Felicity’s eyes widen—not at the question, but at the way his pupils are dilated. His normally pale skin is even flushed, making her wonder if it’s possible for vampires to be intoxicated by a scent. “Pine, cinnamon, and vanilla.” He leans back down to inhale her scent again.

Before she can open her mouth to ask questions, his tongue flicks across her previous scars. All sound dies in her throat, tensing as she braces herself for the bite. The after part might be fun, but the actual puncture? Not so much.

Oliver slides his hand between the seat and her head, carefully twisting her head to adjust the angle. His thumb runs across her lower lip, causing her breath to catch. His touch is almost a caress, so gentle and reverent that—

A sharp pain shoots through her neck, making her realize the distraction. The pain turns into a dull throb as he pulls his teeth out. His tongue laps against her throat, and then the throbbing starts to disappear as the compounds in his saliva reach her blood.

God, does it feel _delicious_. It awakens nerve endings in her body that Felicity never knew existed, creating a magical kind of high that could easily be addictive. Oliver is gentle as he laps at the wound, each swipe of his tongue making the sensation stronger.

The hand he has on her face trails down her neck, dusting her shoulder. His fingers brush down her arm until he reaches her hand, lacing her fingers between his. The gesture is intimate, more so than any sexual encounter she’s ever had in the past.

In response to his touch, she winds her other hand around to the nape of his neck, brushing her fingers through his hair. He makes a low hum of contentment in his throat, and she’s instantly addicted to the sound.

A part of her knows he’s feeding longer than before, but it doesn’t matter. His touch isn’t enough. She throws her leg over him, her ankle falling over the small of her back. The sound he makes in response this time is much darker than the last, charged with the arousal building between them. It’s equally as delicious, but for very different reasons.

Just as quickly as it began, it ends. His mouth pulls away from her throat, and already the high starts to fade. “No, don’t stop,” she mutters, refusing to let go of his hand when he tries to pull it away.

“I have to seal your wound, honey,” he replies in a gentle tone, extricating his fingers from hers. There it is again: that _honey_ from earlier. The word is a soft caress, said in much the same tone as he says her name when they’re alone in the lair.

A callused thumb presses against her neck, wet with something she knows to be blood. _Her_ blood, now made his. It starts to harden on her neck, forming what she knows to be two massive clots over the holes his teeth made.

His lips press against her cheek, making Felicity’s eyes fly open. “Thank you,” he offers in a whisper, with the burning sincerity that only Oliver Queen is capable of. She’s never heard _anyone_ say those two little words with as much weight as he does.

“Everything okay back there?” John calls from the front.

“She’s fine,” Oliver assures him, checking the seal on her neck.

Her eyes widen as she turns to look at him, but already he’s sliding back down her body, pulling her skirt back down as he goes. She shivers at the sudden change in temperature; for all the stories about vampires and their cold touch, Oliver is unbelievably warm.

A soft, gray blanket falls over her, just after he takes care to slip her shoes from her feet. “How are your wounds?” she manages to ask him, though her eyelids are already starting to droop from the fatigue. He must have taken more blood this time.

“Fully healed,” he answers, his voice distracted. Noise of objects shifting around in the drawers follows it. “How are you?”

In answer, she yawns.

Heartbeats later, his hands are on his shoulders, lifting her slightly. When he releases her, it’s to find another blanket under her head, this one supported by something stronger. She turns onto her side, placing a hand on it. Leather. Oliver’s leg.

She glances up to find him staring down at her, eyes softening around the corners. Felicity nestles her head into his lap, jumping slightly as he places a cold pack to her neck. Of course; he’d want to prevent the swelling.

“I don’t want to fall asleep,” she tells him around another yawn.

A hand falls on her hair. “I’m not bleeding anymore, Felicity,” he assures her. “It’s going to be a while before Digg gets us to the house. Get some rest.” When her hand falls on his leg, his hand falls on top of hers. “I’ll watch over you.”

“Only if you’re sure,” she replies, eyes closed. Already her words are starting to slur.

Squeezing her hand, he replies, “Sweet dreams, Felicity.”


End file.
